mint, scented with bergamot. I must admit, it wasn’t just the shopping that had made me tired, my heart was heavy as well, and it took energy to put on a brave face each day, after I had spent the night crying into my pillow.
Steve called earlier to say that he would return to the hotel later than expected. Tonight we were free from the conference and I was looking forward to some fun, anything to take my mind off Davis. Even though I had said I was determined that if he didn’t want our relationship to move forward, it was over for us, in my heart I knew I would be devastated.
On our arrival at the hotel there had been a dozen red roses waiting in my room from him. But I didn’t call. What could I say? Thank you for the roses and it’s okay that after all of this time you’re not sure about me. The day before, a silver cake stand with delicate scented rose macaroons awaited me. Yes, from Davis. They almost had me at first bite, and although I faltered, I still didn’t call.
After I had drained the last of the tea from the silver teapot, with heavy feet and equally as heavy heart, I wearily crossed the grand foyer and made my way to my room. Immediately upon opening the door, my spirits lifted as my shopping, entailing different carrier bags with designer names emblazoned on the sides, had been placed by the concierge upon the pink brocade chair, in front of the ivory silk draped window overlooking the rue de Rivoli.
Kicking off my hot pink patent Pradas, I undid the gold buttons on my cream coloured Burberry trench coat and hung it in the wardrobe. As I closed the mirrored door, something on the bronze silk bedcover caught my eye. Another carrier bag! I swung around. It was not just any carrier bag, but a legendary Loius Vuitton carrier bag. I stopped in my tracks, narrowing my eyes. Surely it must be a mistake. Perhaps the concierge had delivered it to the wrong room.
Stealthily, I crept over to it, as if it might bite. I surveyed it for a few moments and then lifted the edge of the bag, peering inside. There sat the bag of my dreams… the gold mirror bag. I had been raving about this bag for months. Only this morning, I had visited the flagship store on the Champs Elysee, hoping that it was still available, only to be told that the last one had been sold earlier. This had to be it! Oh bother…
Seconds later, I picked the phone up, and dialled the concierge. ‘Bonjour, it is Peach Avanel speaking. I believe there has been an error. There is a shopping bag in my room that does not belong to me. I think it must have been delivered by mistake… Oh! … Is that right? … Are you sure? … Really? Merci boucoup.’
I hung the phone up. I couldn’t believe it. The concierge said that he had delivered it personally. The next moment the phone rang startling me. It was the concierge again. He told me that there had been an error, and asked if I could bring the bag downstairs.
I took the Louis Vuitton carrier bag, my room key and my mobile phone, in case Steve should ring, and lethargically retraced my steps from only minutes before, thinking that really if there was an error, the concierge should rectify it, not me.
Crossing the grand foyer, once again I admired the luxuriousness and beauty of the colour scheme, a harmony of beige marble, accented superbly by tones of red and black.
‘Oui Mademoiselle Avanel, have you opened the bag yet?’ the concierge asked, his voice heavily accented.
‘Well no, as it’s not mine. I did look inside but that’s all. I assure you…’
Firmly, he held his hand up. ‘Perhaps we should look together to make sure all is well.’
‘But I assure you, I haven’t touched it.’
‘Oui Mademoiselle.’ Removing the gold handbag from its wrappings, and placing it on the desk between us, he admired it. ‘It is tres magnifique.’
‘Oui, it is very beautiful,’ I agreed.
‘Would you like to try holding it for a moment?’
I opened my eyes wide at him. ‘I don’t think so…’ my tone carried an air of humour.
He smiled and narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Really Mademoiselle, you should, just to see how it looks.’ He pushed the bag towards me.
I glanced around, uncertain of his strange behaviour. I took the bag and placed it over my arm briefly. ‘Very nice!’ I returned it to the desk top.
‘Ah Mademoiselle, you must have a better look. It suits you. Take it to over to the bar and look in the mirror there. The lighting will be better. You should see how tres beau you look.’
‘No really…’
‘You must! You must! Come along, I will come with you.’ Before I had time to say more, I was handed the bag once again, and escorted across the marble foyer into the spectacular Bar 228. It was impossible not to admire the work of the world renowned designer Phillipe Starck.
Lavish tobacco toned leather chairs, highlighted by the sparkle of rare crystal decanters, all to a backdrop of warm timber detailing, made me feel as if I had been transported into the finest gentlemen’s club. This was the perfect place for drinks with Steve later that night.
The barman came towards us, a single glass of champagne on his tray. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he offered.
Bewildered, certain there must be some mistake, I put my hands out and began to laugh. ‘Look I’m not sure what’s going on here, but this isn’t my bag, and I didn’t order any champagne.’
‘But you must,’ the concierge said, pulling out a chair and pressing me into it. ‘You must sit here while I sort it out.’
Before I had time to protest, with a level of importance, he strode off. I glanced at both the bag, still on my arm, and the glass of champagne on the table in front of me. Completely baffled, I glanced around. What was going on? The poor man was definitely rather odd. I placed the bag on the table and studied it. Someone was lucky. My phone rang and I jumped in fright.
‘Do you like it?’ was all he said.
The moment I heard his voice, I felt the tears well in my eyes. ‘Davis? Did you do this? Is this from you?’ However my heart felt heavy. It wasn’t gifts I wanted.
‘Open it.’
‘Davis please… you’re making this harder.’ My chin quivered. ‘It’s not flowers or macaroons or handbags I want. Please don’t do this…’
‘Open it.’
I exhaled heavily.
‘I said to open it,’ he insisted.
For a moment I sat doing nothing and then with the phone tucked up to my ear, I reached out, took the bag onto my lap and unzipped it. Inside was a small black velvet bag. As if bitten, I rapidly pulled my hand away and placed it to my mouth. ‘What is it?’ I murmured.
‘Have a look.’
I slid the drawstring open. Inside sat a ring box. My hands began to shake and emotion overtook me. ‘Davis…’
‘Stop crying and open it.’
I nearly dropped the phone, and once again tucked it tightly under my ear. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Frenchy… open it.’
With trembling hands I opened the black box and there sat a stunning princess cut sparkling engagement ring.
‘Davis…’ I sobbed, too overcome to say more.
‘Peach Avanel, will you marry me?’
‘Yes, yes I will…’
‘Stop crying, you’ve got mascara running down your face. You need a tissue.’
‘What…?’ Shaking my head, I jumped up from the seat and spun around. Davis was standing in the doorway. I gave a cry that sounded as if it had been torn from my heart and threw myself into his arms. They closed around me hard and strong.
I